I 



COMPlETiOH Of 



coleridg: 



WILLIAM TURK 



■il 



^^ 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

COPYRIGHT OmCE. 

No registration of title of this book 
as a preliminary to copyright protec- 
tion has been found. ^^^^ 27 lyu^r^j?. 

Forwarded to Order Division 

(bate) 



(Apr. 5, 1901—5,000.) 




Cpipghtlj" JJ'lf 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



COMPLETION OF 



Qdleridge's Qhristabel 



Anb ©tl^er poems 



BY 



WILLIAM TURK 



i > J J, '», 



CINCINNATI 
THE EDITOR PUBIjISHING CO 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 

Library of Congretl^ 
Office of th« 

NOV 1 6 18«9 

Register of Copyrlfbts^ 






g'll 



Copyrighted 

EDITOR PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Cincinnati. 



c:* cc,c .. 



CONTENTS 



Preface to Christabel 
Part Third 

Conclusion to Part Third 
Part Fourth 



PAGE. 



1 

- 11 

14 

Conclusion to Part Fourth - - . - 27 

Part Fifth ... . . _ gg 

Conclusion to Part Fifth - - ' _ - 42 

On a Portrait of Keats - - - 47 

On a May Morning in the Woodland - - 48 

Platonic Love - - . . _ . ^g 

The Vale of Rest (From Uhland). - - - 50 

The Rose Garden (From Uhland). - - - 51 

To Phyllis (From Bellamy). - - - 54 

Verselets - - - _ . - 56 

Lines - - - , - - 58 



PREFACE. 

In carrying on to completion Coleridge's fragmentary 
poem, Christabf'l, and thus setting my own work in antitheti- 
cal approximation to his, I am sensible of the dangerous 
ground upon which I am treading. Yet as the adventurer, 
in full knowledge of the dangers he must run, will continue 
in the pleasing excitement of the hazard he pursues, so I, 
despite a prescience of almost certain failure, entered upon 
this venture in happy indifference to everything but the 
pleasure in the work. I have no other plea to offer for the 
reason of the undertaking. 

In the preface to his Christahel, Coleridge says that he 
had nothing but his own indolence to blame for writing only 
two out of the five parts planned, and trusts he '^vill yet be 
able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come.'' He 
left the poem so incomi)lete that no one can tell how he in- 
tended to end it. Consequently, I had to construct the re- 
maining part of the plot, and, dove-tailing it with the frag- 
ment of his own, proceed upon original ground of work. At 
the demands of the story I was compelled to add three more 
personages to the primary number of four. 

As to the verse, l" have used the same meter that 
Coleridge used, occasionally varying the processional 
tramp of iambic lines by the insertion of a trochaic, and 
sometimes breaking over the prevailing tetrameters into a 
pentameter, or lapsing into a trimeter. I have also con- 
tinued the practice of writing little conclusions to the parts 
of the poem. These, I may add incidentally, were the 
hardest of all for me to write, presumably because, partak- 



it PREFACE. 

ing of a lyric quality, they were somewhat aside from the 
bias of my knack at writing. 

For those who may not have read the original fragment 
of ChritsaheU I prefix a resume of its argument. 

One night in ''the month before the month of May" 
Christabel was in the wood ''a furlong from the castle gate;" 
praying underneath the old oak tree "for the weal of her 
lover that's faraway." Suddenly hearing a moaning near 
her, she sprang up, and, stealing to the other side of the 
oak, found a ''damsel bright, dressed in a silken robe of 
white," and "beautiful exceedingly." In answer to 
Christabel's question, the damsel replied that her name was 
Geraldine,and said further that five warriors had seized her 
yestermorn, and, tying her on a palfrey's back, had ridden 
to the old oak tree, where one of them placed her, saying 
"he would return in haste." 

Christabel helped fair Gerald ine to rise, and led her to 
the castle, beseeching her to share her couch for the night. 
She also assured Gerald ine that the service of her father. 
Sir Leoline, was at her command, and that their 

"stout chivalry 
Should guide and guard her safe and free 
Home to her noble father's hall." 

When they crossed the court the mastiff, which 

"Never till now had uttered yell 

Beneath the eye of Christabel," 

moaned angrily as she lay asleep in her kennel. 

After Christabel and Geraldine had gone silently and 
unmolested through the passages of the castle, and arrived 
at the former's room, they had some talk concerning Chris- 
tabel's mother, who had died when her child was born. Sud- 



PREFACE. m 

denly Geraldine stared vacantly into the air and cried : 
''Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 
I have power to bid thee flee." 
And soon again : 

"Off woman, off! this hour is mine — 
Though thou her guardian angel be , 
Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me." 
Christabel tenderly sought to console her, and soon 
Oeraldine 

"wiped her moist cold brow 
And faintly said, ' 'Tis over now!' " 

But the fair damsel proved to be a witch in disguise, 
and that night obtained a magic influence over the sleeping 
Christabel. Next morning when Christabel led Geraldine 
into the presence room of Sir Leoline, and he learned the 
damsel's father was Sir Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine, he 
became pale. ''They had been friends in youth," but on ac- 
count of a quarrel "had parted,— ne'er to meet again." 
Their mutual affection had survived, however, and both had 
been unhappy for years. 

This chance meeting with the daughter of his quondam 
friend found Sir Leoline ready to renew the old ac- 
quaintance, and he waxed wroth when told of Geraldine's 
abduction, and vowed revenge upon the perpetrators. In a 
moment of tenderness he took her into his arms, and 

"A vision fell 

Upon the soul Of Christabel. 
* * * * * 

Again she saw that bosom old, 
Again she felt that bosom cold, 
And drew in her breath with a hissing sound, 



iv PREFACE. 

Whereat the knight turned wildly round," 

but, seeing- nothing unusual, asked \yhat ailed his beloved 
child, and'his daughter could only answer ^'all will yet be 
^vell." 

Then calling Bard Bracy, Sir Leoline told him to guide 
the lair Geraldine home to her fatlier, and to acquaint him 
of his (Sir Leoline's) repentance. But on the night before 
Bracy had had a vision in which he had seen Christabel in 
the wood pitilessly trammelled in the coils of a snake. 
Fearful of evil cons'^equences he had vowed that day 

''With music strong and saintly song 
To wander through the forest bare 
Lest aught unholy loiter there." 

Sir Leoline dismissed his forebodings with a jest, and 
again kissed the forehead of fair Geraldine. The latter 
looked at Christabel furtively and askance and with such 
intensity of malice that the face of the gentle maiden, in her 
weakness to resist the evil influence of the beautiful witch, 
unconsciously took on the selfsame expression. Her father 
beheld the look, and, wrongly ascribing it to jealousy, felt 
that his old age and hospitality had been dishonored by his 
only cliild. Still more '4iis heart was cleft with rage and 
pain" when Christabel fell at his feet, and, unable to tell 
the real meaning of her action, entreated him by her 
mother's soul to send the woman away. After a few 
moments of utter confusion and silent rage he ordered 
Bracy from the room, 

"And, turning from his own sw^eet maid. 
The aged knight Sir Leoline 
Led forth the lady Geraldine." 



COMPLETION OF 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEE 



PART THIRD. 

I ween a gentle maiden sweet 
Can ill such cruel treatment meet. 
E'en where she fell fair Christabel lay 
With all her senses fled away, 
And pale and still as still could be, 
A fair yet painful sight was she. 
Thus she lay as she were dead, 

Until her brain came back again 
To the full knowledge of her pain, 
And to her chamber fast she fled, 
A bitter sorrow in her breast. 
In tears she sank upon her bed. 
And, though at times a spell of peace 
Would bring her respite and surcease, 
Yet no abiding ease or re^t 
Found her sweet spirit so distressed. 
The aged knight. Sir Leoline, 
Led forth the lady Geraldine, 
And, choosing a noble escort train, 

1 



2 COMPLETION OF 

Placed her on a palfrey vain, 

And gave her to Bard Bracey's care 
To ride beside her, guide her rein, 

And carry home the lady fair. 
*'And tell, Bard Bracey," Sir Leoline spake, 
"Her noble father for my sake 
The years agone since last we met 
Have cost me sorrow and regret, 
And that, repenting, fain am I 
To meet again before I die 

The comrade of my youthful heart. 
And bind once more the sacred tie 

Our youthful fury rent apart." 
Then spake the knight to Geraldine, 
But ill, I ween, could he divine 
What deep impatience all the while 
Lurked beneath her modest smile. 
And how her heart once more felt ^ree 
When his last farewell ended he. 

The train its journey then began; 
Bard Bracy was the one sad man. 
And all the rest wore free and fair 
The gentle air, the gladsome air 
That, smiling on them everywhere, 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 

Nature invited them to wear. 

Smooth was the road, the trees beside 

Were flowering in their springtime pride; 

Their leaves, yet moist with morning dew, 

Like diamonds glittered to the view. 

The feathered singer's morning song 

The gale took pleasure to prolong; 

No creature was worthy of Nature's scorn, — 

All were favorites of the morn. 

Fair Geraldine, her palfrey sat 

As one who had the graces pat, 

And deftly did she spur and guide. 
And tartly bandied gibe and chat 

With the fair youths who rode beside. 
Her beauty in the glancing light 
Seemed fallen from heaven upon their sight, 
And when she smiled and when she spoke 
Ecstatic longing in them woke. 
Onward they rode, the talk still flowed. 
And she and they showed little care 
For gentle Bracy's saddened air. 
His harp he held within his hand. 

And the train had not proceeded long 

Ere they insisted for a song. 



4 COMPLETION OF 

And grew so urgent their demand 

He yielded to the pressing throng. 
The air he played was light yet sad, 

A plaintive warbling of mated birds; 
The song, (the sweetest that he had,) 

Was clothed in airy, careless words, 
And yet breathed out, despite Its dress, 
A catching plaint of soul-distress. 
But the mood of the train was gay and glad, 
And they hinted the song w^as all too sad, 
And Geraldine requested one 
Of gayer mood and lighter tone; 
And the minstrel Bard, with cast down pride, 
Was urged and pressed till he complied. 
Full glad was the Bard with rising cheer 
When the journey's end was drawing near. 

O'er Irthing Flood the journey went, 
Up Knorren Moor without event, 
And time and space unnoticed flew 
Till Halegarth wood appeared in view. 
Thick were the trees, and twined o'erhead, 
And gloomed the road that through them led ; 
And when the chatting caravan 
To tread its labyrinth began, 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 

A mutual shudder crept along, 

And stilled the laugh and hushed the song. 

For all observed with keenness fine 

A change come over Geraldine, 

And how in such a little space 

The bright smile faded from her face, 

And their instead a sternness came 

That, shedding round the lovely dame 

Its chilling influence withal. 

Checked the gaiety of all. 

None might divine and none might know 

What made the lady alter so. 

For all upon her features read 

It was not born of fear and dread, 

But rather still she wore the air 

Of one not unfamiliar there. 

With look of confidence and pride 

They saw her glance from side to side. 

At length when they passed from the sombre reign 

Beyond to the cheering light again, 

So deeply was the chill impressed 

On all the train that, how they tried. 
None could regain his former zest. 

Nor what he felt within him hide ; 



€ COMPLETION OF 

And the rest of the journey, though brighter the air, 
Was passed in silence broken rare. 

Soon cried the lady Geraldine, 
And pointed with her finger fine 
Where Langdale Hall, her father's home, 
Dimly through the foliage shown. 
Bard Bracy brought his harp to bear, 
And played a shrill and merr}^ air, 
Till soon the echoes of the strain 
Reached Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine, 
And forth he came without delay 
To meet the party on their w^ay. 
An old and white-haired man was he; 
On his features you might see 

How glad surprise lit up his eyes. 
And gave to all a welcome free. 
However bent his form was now, 
How^ever furrowed was his brow, 
There lingered still a noble trace 
About his figure and his face. 

The minstrel lighted from his selle, 
And with salute advanced to tell 
His explanation fair and meet; — 
How Geraldine, his daughter sweet, 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 

At midnight by the castle bell 

Was found in the wood by Christabel, 

And taken to Sir Leoline, 

Who in the early morning shine 

Had chosen the minstrel and his train 

To guide the lady home again. 

And then the gentle minstrel told 

The words Sir Leoline had said, — 
How when the past before him rolled 

His heart within him beat and bled ; 
And by his honor he did say 
That he repented of the day 
When he spake words of fierce disdain 
To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine, 
And that once more he longed to know 
The friend he loved so long a^^o. 
Sir Roland listened in surprise, 

His aged countenance aglow, 
And when he spoke the tears were in his eyes : — 
"Bard Bracy, let thy master know 
That I have felt repentance, too, 

But pride wrought hard to stifle pain ; 
And that full often to my view 

His form in youth has come again — " 



8 COMPLETION OF 

But lo ! with shrinking look of pain 

Ceased speaking Sir Roland of Tryermaine, 

And turned a face of suppliant fear 

To where his daughter sat anear, 

Who, cheeks aflame and eyes afire, 

Regarded stern her aged sire. 

What could it mean? — A father gray 

Held beneath a daughter's sway? 

A child so fair, yet vile of soul 

As thus her parent to control? 

The company could only stare, 

And wounded countenances wear ; 

And they to greater wonder woke 

When Geraldine, alighting, spoke : — 

"I cannot think of ought to gain 
By holding this weary parley vain ; 
And well I trow 'tis best for thee 
To cease thy speech and come with me." 
She wore a look of high command, 

And more implied than she did say ; 
She took her father by the hand. 

And to the castle led the way. 
No further parley did she deign 
To minstrel Bracy or his train. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 

But left them in amazement strong 
While she her father led along. 
A comely youth who sat his steed 

As one who, struck by strong surprise, 

Is roughly in a trice made wise. 
Spoke to his comrade to take heed : 
"Though she seems gentle and so fair, 
Methinksit 'hooves us to beware; 
Her heart is false, and well I trow 
She hath the power to work us woe." 
The gentle minstrel, sad at heart, 
Reined round his palfrey to depart. 
And, followed by the jouthful train. 
Returned in silence home again. 

Now speech was short and words were few, 
For all were silent with surprise. 
And lively charms of nature drew 

But small attention from their eyes. 
Right glad they were when far ahead 
They marked the castle rise to view. 
The moat they reached, and to the ground 
Bard Bracy vaulted with a bound. 
Crossed o'er the bridge and court withal 
To enter straight the castle tall, 



10 COMPLETION OF 

And, glancing neither left nor right 
Sought for Sir Leoline the knight. 

In a fit of surliness and gloom 
Sir Leoline sat in his room, 
And much he did in spirit drie 
To mind his daughter's jealousy. 
And how it brought him grief and shame 
Because so patent to the dame. 

The knight was deep in bitter thought 
When Bracy there admission sought, 
And to his sorrow and dismaj^ 
Was gruffly cut and sent away. 
This to the minstrel was the drop 
Into his overflowing cup; 
And sadder than for many a day. 
He turned about and went his way. 

His deepening gloom did not depart, 
And leave an unencumbered heart. 
But all the day it grew apace. 
And bowed his head and paled his face. 
For Christabel he turned to seek, 
And when the servants told him eke 
That she had to her chamber hied, 
And had no longer been espied, 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 11 

And that in shame and sorrow deep 

They had stood without and lieard her weep, 

His heart, though like a warrior's brave, 

Sank deeper, deeper and misgave; 

A grief he could not drive away 

Clung to his soul throughout the day ; — 

A prescience that some dark abyss 

Of whelming and chaotic woe, 
Cloven by remorseless Nemesis, 

Its greedy maw was opening slow 
Beneath the castle in whose close 
Dwelt all his hopes and joys and woes. 



CONCLUSION TO PART THIRD. 

They only who are given to bear 
The burden of a sensitive soul 
Know the full measure of their dole 

When through the world they try to fare,. 

And like their comrades do and dare. 

Failing to meet with brazen front 

The world's unquailing bale and brunt, 

Again they feel their grief's excess 

In gibes of their unmanliness. 



12 COMPLETION OF 

What wonder is it that, distressed 

Beyond the limit of relief, 

They leave the gauds that lure to grief, 
And, searching every phase of rest, 
Find solitude befits them best? 
There can they, from all apart, 
Let flow the feelings of the heart, 
Give free reign to the visions high 
That mould the soul to symmetry, 
And find in every rolling plain 
A stage whereon to ease their pain ; 
In every grove, in every tree 
A patient audience of sympathy, 
Thy murmurs but approval mild 
To Solitude's distempered child. 
The world may whirl its life away 

With not an inkling of the joy 

They feel who, free from its annoy, 
Know the sweet might of Nature's sway; 
But well-a-day ! and well-a-day! 
For those who love the quietude 
Of meadow, mountain, stream and wood, 
And fain would commune fair and free 
With the sweet maid of Poesy, 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 13 

Yet still are forced the streets to tread 
And mix with spirits dull and dead 
Who have not sympathy and art 
To understand a poet's heart. 
Theirs cannot be the kind of woe 
By others shared ; and well I trow 
They must withdraw to mourn apart, 
Like Bracy of the gentle heart. 



PART FOURTH. 

The day moved on with noiseless shoon, 
And now had neared the hour of noon. 
The air without was warm and whist, 
The sun was beaming through a mist 
Which let the light but faint and dim, 
And made a halo round its rim. 
About the castle and around 
Were little life and little sound ; 
For rumors of their master's pet 

To all the occupants had run, 
And caused the silence of regret 

As they some injury had done. 
Yet this a change did undergo: 
Soon trilled a bugle-blast below, 
And was admittance given fain 
To Aldingar and eke his train, — 
The noble knight Sir Aldingar 

Who had plighted his troth to Christabel,- 

The same for whom in the forest dell 
u 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 15 

She had prayed her prayer the night bef(*re. 

He had long been gone, and they thought him far 

Winning high honors in the war. 

But, warfare ended, he had sped 

To Christabel unheralded ; 

And now to others all amort, 

He met Bard Bracy in the court. 

His eyes were bright, his breath came fast 

With thrills of blissful antepast; 

His glowing features well expressed 

The eager tremors in his breast; 

And ready queries he applied 

About the welfare of his bride. 

The minstrel tried to cast aside 

All the traces of his gloom, 
And answered light the youthful knight, 

And led him to the presence room. 
"Sir Aldinger," with suasive tone 

He spoke with simulated heart, 
"Thy gentle dove hath lately flown 

To her apartment far apart; 
And I beseech with love sincere 
That, since the noontide is so near, 
You calm the fears that thee enthrall, 



16 COMPLETION OF 

And meet her in the banquet hall. 
Her handmaid shall be sent apace 
To cite her to the dinner place, 
With not a mention of thy name, 
And when appears our little dame, 
The holy meed 

Of seeing rise 

In her sweet eyes 

The spreading impulse of surprise 
Will glad our hearts indeed. 
Sir Leoline, as well you know, 

Is frail in health and bent and gray ; 
And, though with pleasure he will glow 
When I acquaint him who is here. 

He cannot leave his room to-day." 
Bard Bacy finished, and amain 

A maid was sent for Christabel, 

But soon returned the news to tell 
That all persuasion was in vain : 
Her mistress wab ill, and chose to stay 
In her apartment for the day. 
And by her fay ! the maiden said. 
Her mistress' eyes were large and red, 
As though many tears she'd shed. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 17 

Such words could not but quickly blight, 

The prelibation of the knight, 

Though Bracy uttered words of cheer: — 

"She would recover and appear, 

And perchance they had not done aright 

In leaving untold the name of the knight.'' 

Not long this anxious time did last; 

The banquet summons sounded clear, 

The Bard assumed an air of cheer, 
And, while went on the noon repast. 
He sought by a pretended gladness 
The slow communicated sadness 
To lure from out the passive breasts 
Of sympathetic guests. 

When over was the banquet, all 
Assembled in the lofty hall 
Where with his harp of magic tone 

The minstrel plied his happy art, 

Chanted a ballad of the heart, 
And made his passion all their own. 

Meanwhile when fell the twilight hour 
Fair Geraldine slid from her bower. 
And wrapped in mantle long and drear, 
Went forth into the starshine clear, — 



18 COMPLETION OF 

Accompanied b}^ her thoughts alone, 
She wandered forth unseen, unknown. 
She raised her features to the skies. 

And the starlight , falling on her face, 
Revealed its beauty and its grace, — 
Dark hair, disordered by the gale. 
Blown o'er her forehead clear and pale, 
Sweet lips of passion where were set 
Lines showing spirit sufferance. 
And in her sunken eyes of jet 

A restless, bright and guileful glance. 
No tears were trembling in her eyes. 
And yet her heart, for all so vain. 
Was beating fast in peerless pain. 
Far otherwise wrought her distress 
Than calming her to gentleness ; 
For, as she wandered on amain, 
Fierce thoughts were coursing in her brain. 
To Halegarth wood she took her way. 

And when she saw, inwreathed in gloom. 
Its spectral trees before her loom. 
She made no boggling stop or stay : 
With head erect, and light, swift gait 
Its dark demesne she entered straight. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 19 

Geraldine with long dark hair, 
And eyes and brow divinely fair, 

Endued with seeming gentle grace, 
Are not within her maiden breast 
Expectant fear and sheer unrest? — 
Eor dark and gloom small care she hath; 
Still hied she along her forest path, 
When soon she halted and drew back. 
And peered into the darkness black. 
Her eyes grew wide ; loudly she cried 

In blended fear and \^rath : 
"Ah! woman white, again, to-night, 

You seek to bar me in my path ! 
Though thou her guardian angel be, 
Though canst not check nor alter me ; 
I know my soul, I have no fear, 
And there's a greater power near!" 

The beauteous dame, with flashing eyes. 
Sprang past the spot, and onward hies. 
East, fast her feet the distance mete, 
And home impatience goads her soul 
To gain the covert of her goal. 
What seeks this Geraldine so fair? — 
She seeks the grot of Witch's Lair, 



20 COMPLETION OF 

(Most unfrequented solitude 
In all the round of Halegarth Wood,) 
Where in her fell, glum loneliness 
Dwells Martha, aged anchoress. 

The lonely maiden gazed on high 
Where, riding dreamily o'er the sky, 
Through clefts of trees looked down the moon 
On all that silent scene ; and soon 
Its pale beams to her vision gave 
The rocky entrance of the cave. 

Leafy twines of gadding vines 
Spread all so mazy o'er the Lair 
That people unfamiliar there 
Had gazed upon the sylvan spot, 
And passed in nescience of the grot. 
Geraldine did then dispart 
The tangled work of Nature's art, 
And, hidden quite from prying sight. 
Gave forth a summons from her throat 
Not unlike the curlew's note. 
From far v^ithin an answer came ; 
She hastened on, the beauteous dame. 
And, thriding a passage of damp and gloom, 
Emerged into a low-browed room. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 21 

At farthest end, a-glowing bright, 
A fire shot flickers of lambent light, 
And gave the trappings all to sight. 

The walls and ceiling, all of ground, 
With kip- skin and fells were hung around; 
A mighty cauldron on the fire 
Hissed tamely now and now rose higher;. 
And, lying low within its glow, 
A sly fox did its head uprear ; 
A few iron tripods stood anear. 

Upon her entrance Geraldine 
No person present could divine, 
But when her dazzled sight 
Had overcome the blinking light, 
Her piercing, snake-like eye surveyed 
A figure standing in the shade. 
'•Ah! Mother Martha, thou art there! 
Again I seek thy hidden lair 
To tell my efforts and success. 
And how I gave the girl distress." 
The aged hag came forth to view : 

Her face an hundred wrinkles bore. 
Yet straight her form as shaft of yew, 

And dark her eyes with magic lore. 



22 COMPLETION OF 

"Daughter, seat thyself anear, 

And tell what thou wouldst have me hear." 

Eound Geraldine, a^ she stood there, 

The woman wrapped her nappy gown, 
Then drew the girl to the warming glare, 

And close together they sat down. 
"Now, Daughter mine, here by the shine 

Of the burning cedar tell the whole ; 
Thou hast a pallid look and wild, 
Thou art cold and damp: I ken it, child; — 

Some misery sits at the root of thy soul." 
Then Geraldine sought to relate 

All her haps since yestere'en ; 

As she proceeded, fierce and keen 
Her eyes 'gan widen and dilate 
With sting of old recurring hate. 
Till, wrought to passion's highest key, 
She flung her mantle suddenly, 
And to her feet instanter rose, 
While, rapid as a torrent flows. 
Dark words of hatred came and fell 
Upon the maiden Christabel. 
With admiration in her eyes, 
The old witch sat in still surprise. 



COLERIDGE'S CHKISTABEL. 23 

'•O, Mother Martha! knowest thou 
What woes my haughty spirit bow? 
Though I am wont with studied wiles 
To w^reathe my face in happy smiles, 
Before the ball-room's giddy press 
To w^ear the air of happiness, 
And answer blushes to their stare, 
Bright as the roses in my hair. 
These are but semblances that veil 
An endless reach of burning bale. 
My heart, my thoughts are never there ; 
They ever dwell on Aldingar, 
The faithless knight who loved me well 
Until he met this Christabel, 
And left for her the glowing heart 
That deemed him of its life the better part. 

"I told thee nothing of this woe, 
O, Mother, when few nights ago 
I came to ask thee how to sate 
The gnawing appetence of hate. 
I come again, by vengeance backed, 
To ask thee further how to act; 
Yet know^ I have this Christabel 
Fast in the clutches of my spell, — 



24 COMPLETION OF 

Into my snare with complaisance she fell/ 
01: mercy naught her spirit weet ; 
Her wild excitement passed away, 
And Geraldine resumed her seat 

To hearken Mother Martha's say: 
*'Thy beauty, Daughter, is complete; 
Thy flashing eye and piercing glance 
Bespake the high intelligence 
Which in thy childish innocence 
I knew would bring thee fame and power. 
Then wert thou like a woodland flower 
Which, girt with gorse and prickly whin, 
Seems lovelier for the distance of its kin. 
Bereft so early of thy mother. 
With not a sister or a brother, 
I saw thee often when a child 
In seach of blossoms roaming wild; 
I met thee often in the dell, 
And lured thee to my hidden cell 
Where you became acquainted well, 
And where I taught thee charm and spell. 
Perceiving all thy spirit rare, 
I reared thee with a mother's care. 
Think not thy love affair to me 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 25 

Has ever been a mystery ; 

Thy love and jealousy I kenned 

From the commencement to the end. 

The knight for whom thy heart is sore 

Is now a warrior no more. 

Ha! start not, Girl, at what I said; — 

I do not mean that he is dead : 

This morning near the dawn of light 

I held my crystal to my sight. 

And saw him riding through the land 

Attended by a chosen band. 

It seemed that they had traveled far ; 

Close rode behind his retinue. 

And by appearance well I knew 
They were returning from the war. 

At noon I took a second view. 
And before Sir Leoline's castle tall 
He stood, and gave his bugle call. 

"Ay, Daughter, trust me, he is there 
In the same castle with his fair, 

And yet because thy snare was laid 

His gentle, unsuspecting maid 
Knows nothing of his presence there. 

Art thou for vengeance still athirst? — 



26 COMPLETION OF 

'Tis thine, if you obey me first. 
To-night in thickest shadows flee 
Unto her favorite old oak tree ; 
Upon its grassy carpet round 
With magic circles mark the ground ; — 
Then by thy magic bold and free 
Lure forth this maiden to the tree. 
When she is there do thou not shirk 
To force her in the charmed cirque, 
And, — well, the rest to thee is known. 
How this her reason will dethrone, 
Destroy her charms for mor-tal man, 
And Love from her forever ban." 

Her thanks the rising maiden gave, 

Yet lingered by the anchoress : — 
''Where is thy crystal, Mother grave? — 
One moment only do I crave 

To glance at Christabel's distress." 
"My crystal, Daughter, do you siy? 
Alack ! it was this very day 

When I had ta'en those glances fleet. 
It glided from my hands away, 

And broke in pieces at my feet. 
'Tis bad; 'twill cost me trouble sure 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 27 

Ere I another can procure. 
I would, indeed, I had it now, 
For, though I know not why nor how, 
My aged breast is sore oppressed 
With omen of disaster near ; — 

But go thy way 
Now maiden dear, 

And come again to-morrow day." 
Fair Geraldine turned from the light. 
And wandered forth into the night. 



CONCLUSION TO PART FOURTH, 

Methinks it is a gift of love 
From that Omniscient Power above 
That human fates lie unforeseen 
Behind the future's filmy screen, — 
That no Cassandra lives to-day 
To show the serpent in our way. 
What if the bride 

Who stands to-night 
Aglow with love and pride. 

And hears the rite 



28 COMPLETION OF 

That links her forever to the side 
Of him in whom her hopes abide, 
Could antedate the deeps of woe 
Which she in after time may know ! 
What if the mother, in her joy 
Crooning to sleep her infant boy, 
Might in that hour be given to scan 
The degradation of the man! 
If in the mid-day of to-morrow 
Shall fall the deepest night of sorrow. 
Who would desire to see its lower 
Steal frowning o'er the Present's hour? 
No, let Time keep his wonted way. 
And laws of nature hold their sway; 
For, after all that hath been said 

In bold decrial of our lot, 
I see but wisdom there displayed ; — 

If aught be wrong I know it not. 



PART FIFTH. 

In sun-kissed beauty day had set, 

Like a rainbow fading from the sight, 
And Night's cerulean coronet 

Gleamed with a million points of light. 
Soon in the east marked mortal eyes 
Diana's golden disc arise 

In her blue pathway to begin 
Her peaceful journey o'er the skies. 

The evening breezes, low and thin, 
Passed o'er the wanderer's forehead light, 
And in the tree-tops rustled slight, 
And seemed like the breathing of a sigh 
Which the world might whisper to the sky, 
As, sunken deep in the mazes of sleep. 
She lay with all her evils hid 
Beneath the twilight's coverlid. 
'Tw^as when upon the birchen spray 
The nightingale begins her lay, 
When from her hiding peeps the fay, 



30 COMPLETION OF 

And sees the fairies at their play, — 

How upon the green parterre 

They trip their morris light and far. 

Upon this moonlit prospect dwell 
The tearful eyes of Christabel, 
As from her couch at eve she came, 
And sat down by the casement frame. 
Full sad for her had been the day ; 
It seemed 'twould never pass away, 
But now she laid aside her fears, 
And let the breezes dry her tears, 
Gazed on the nightly beauty calm, 
And made the scene her sorrow's balm. 
Her soul as quiet grew and clear 
As the distant sheet of Wyndermere, 
As now on this stilly night it lies 

Calm as a mother-bird in her nest. 

Repeating in its sleeping breast 
The blue dome of the gemmy skies. 

She forward leaned, and lightly pressed 
Against the sill her peaceful breast. 
And looked beyond to where she sees 
The green-clad boughs of many trees. 
And 'mongst them all the old oak's crest 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 31 

Like a giant rising o'er the rest. 
Long had she loved the forest's king, 
And in her childish wandering 
Beneath its boughs had stayed to rest, 
Had plucked the green moss from its breast, 
And better loved each time to stay, 
And round its roots to ply her play. 
And then she thought how yestereve 

She knelt beneath it in her prayer 

For her absent lover's dear welfare. 
And scarcely could her eyes believe 

When she found the grieving damsel there — 
Her dreaming ceased, for on her soul 
A secret, subtle horror stole 
Like that same thrill she felt the morn 
Which caused her father's ire and scorn, 
When in her fear of Geraldine 
Her sire could naught but hate divine. 
The maiden drew her in apace. 
And sat with damp and whitened face 
Until it passed by slow degrees. 

Came not again her former ease. 
She rose, and crossed her chamber long 
To where her mother's portrait hung, — 



32 COMPLETION OF 

The mother whose sweet love and care 

Had been denied her daughter fair. 

She drew the beamy gauze aside 

That scantly did the features hide. 

And, gazing at the painting there 

Of a lady gentle, sweet and fair, 

In soft, contemplative distress 

Stood the maiden motherless. 

Some words she murmured faint and low : — 

"How often, O, my mother dear. 
Have I come hither in my woe. 

And felt thy very self anear. 
A holy solace seems to rise 
From out those gentle-painted eyes, 
Thy soft-drawn lips about to speak 
A mother's love to my spirit weak. 
For all his brusque and pettish ways 

My father loves me well, I trow; 

Yet would he knew as thou w^ouldst know 
To shed the meed I often need 
Of words of love and looks of praise. 
I would, O mother, thou wert here 
My longing and my grief to hear. 
Then might I rest against thy breast 



COLERIDGE'S CHUISTABEL. 33 

My heart so lone and weary oft, 
And listen to thee speaking soft 
The words of tender sympathy 
I have so longed to hear from thee." 

There came a brief and silent spell 
Till the maiden Christabel 
Replaced the veil the portrait o'er, 
And to the window came once more. 

Upon the moon she turned her gaze, 
And long regarded its yellow haze 

As on it crept; 
Gone was her feeling of deep dread ; 
Upon her arm she laid her head, 

And slept. 
Ay, she is sleeping, sleeping now; 
Peace lies upon her lily brow 
Where through the day the seal of pain 
Had marked the keenness of its reign. 
The soft pulsations of the air 
Wooed the light ringlets of her hair. 

And whispered love-tones in her ear. 
Ah! why, instead, with tocsin knell 
Did it not waken Christabel 

To knowledge of the toils anear, 



34 COMPLETION OF 

Ere round her unsuspecting heart 
Were woven the meshes of black art? 

Sleep still held its lulling spell 
Till midnight struck the castle bell, 
And then it was that Christabel 
Regained her senses with a start. 
She felt a horror round her heart, 
Within her brain a pulsing flame 
That slowly spread through all her frame ; 
A longing for the old oak stole 
Upon her acquiescent soul ; 
And all the w^hile she never wist 
This fascination, to resist. 

"Mary mother, guard me well," 
Crossing herself, said Christabel, 
And put her mantle on withal. 
And lightly stole into the hall. 
And swiftly onward doth she fare 

Till came she to the courtyard soon ; 
All w^as asleep and silent there, 

In the dim glimmer of the moon 
All w^as asleep and silent? Nay; 
List to that angry yell and bay 
Which from her kennel sitting near 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 35 

The mastiff bitch gave half in fear! 
O, what can ail the aged hound 
To give forth such an angry sound, 
To utter bay and utter j^ell 
In presence of sweet Christabel 
Who ever cared for it so well? — 

The startled damsel hastened on, 
And crossed the moat and passed the lawn, 
And reached the edge of the old greenwood, 
And there in hesitancy stood 
Bethinking then that not an eye 
Her timid wandering might spy. 
In the gloomy forest wandered she . 
To the huge, broad-breasted old oak tree. 

But well I wis she thought amiss 
In trusting that the shades of night 
Concealed her course from human sight ; 
For from above the minstrel bard 
Of all her actions made regard. 
His ominous anxieties 
Had driven slumber from his eyes. 
And while he tossed and sleepless lay 
He heard the mastiff's angry bay; 
And, thinking deeply on the cause 



36 COMPLETION OF 

Arose and from his window peered, 
"When lo ! he saw his mistress pause, 

And glance around as if she feared 

The hall might wake that baying weird. 
Jesu Maria! whit did she there, 
His mistress so tender, young and fair? 
While on the maiden he looked long. 

The ugly dreams of yester night 
Came back upon him in a throng, 

And filled his soul with dread and fright. 
Sure some magician's evil charm 
Was trolling Christabel to harm; 
And when he saw her disappear 
He straight resolved to follow her. 

Out into the night air free 
Crept the minstrel noislessly, 
And hastened after Christabel; 

But when he reached the greenw^ood fair 
He looked about and could not tell 

At what point she had entered there. 
Yet 'twas no time for vain delay, 
And so he entered anyway. 
Dark rose the trees, save here and there 
The moonbeams blinked through branches bare. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 37 

Bard Bracy stood and listened well 

To hear a sound of Christabel; — 

Instead, there came unto his ear 

A noise that filled his breast with fear, — 

A low, dead roar that slowly died 

Ran through the wood from side to side ; 

Dark shapes arose as if in wrath, 

And seemed to flit before his path. 

Unused to scenes so dread and wild, 

The minstrel trembled like a child. 

And turning from these visions black. 

Unto the castle hastened back 
There to procure his harp so mild, 
The music of whose dancing strings 
Could break the charm of evil things, 
And there to seek Sir Aldingar 
Whom, bred to grisly sights of war. 
No black illusions could debar. 
There he arrived in hasty plight. 
Possessed his harp and roused the knight 
Who, armed with sword and purpose grim, 
Heard the Bard's tale and followed him 
Fleet could they speed along the way 
When Christabel in danger lay, 



38 COMPLETION OF 

And vengeance did her lover swear 
On those who harmed one silken hair. 

Bard Bracy knew she often played 
Beneath the oak's inviting shade. 

They reached the forest speedily, 
And sped toward the old oak tree. 
Despite the noises on the blast, 
Dark shapes and sights that held aghast 
The knight and minstrel onward passed; 
And thus had they but shortly sped 
Till they perceived the oak ahead. 

But Jesu ! what was lying there? 

Sweet Christabel in the dim moonshine 
Lay pallid on the frightened grass. 

And o'er her hovered Geraldine. 
With dark, fietce words and gestures wild 
The dame stood o'er the maiden child, 
And far the fury of her soul 
Had passed the portal of control. 
The men stood speechless, till at last 

In wild excitement spoke the knight: 

"See you that woman in our sight? 
I have known her in the past. 
I loved her once, but found too well 



COLERIDGE^S CHRISTABEL. 

She knew and used the arts of hell. 

O! she has murdered Christabel, 

And I alone will dole her meed : — 

Vengeance, Vengeance for the deed!" 

He drew his blade without a sound, 

And reached the fury at a bound. 

^ 'Nay, wait!" Bard Bracy cried in fright, 

And sought to check the wayward knight; 

Too late the impulse to arrest, 

The dagger pierced her shrinking breast, 

And Geraldine in death-fit fell 

Beside unconscious Christabel. 

An awful spell of silence came, 
And damped the heat of passion's flame, 
Led Mercy in to intercede. 
And make them realize their deed. 
The men looked down on the damsel slain, 
Till turning from the sight of pain, 
The minstrel bent him o'er his maid, 
His hand upon her forehead laid, 
And cried with streaming eyes and wet : 
"0 ! haste thou, she is breathing yet. 
We'll bear her to the castle fleet. 
And the leech may save our maiden sweet!" 



40 COMPLETION OF 

Hasted the knight, and both with care 
The swooning maiden onward bare. 
"That I should find thee in this plight, 

When after absence long and wide, 

I came to claim thee for my bride !" 
With broken manhood sobbed the knight. 

The castle reached, the pallid maid 
Upon a downy couch was laid, 
And soon each far apartment through 
The doleful rumor wailing flew. 
Fast ran the menials here and there 
To summon leech or cordial bear. 
Sir Leoline came, and stood beside, 
And saw recourses vainly tried ; 
The feeble flicker of his heart 
Seemed also ready to depart 
When on his maiden's white, cold face 
Death's blighting finger he could trace. 
The leech had said the hand of death 
Was surely pressing out her breath. 

Soon from the lips of Christabel 
Some iamt words on the silence fell. 
And holding down his eager ear. 
Her father seemed these words to hear: 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 41 

'O, father, I am cold to-night; 

Nay, stay beside me, for I fear 

I cannot bide much longer here ! 
There swims before my clouded sight 
A form of grace, a face of light, 
And much I fear 'tis she again 
Seeking to give me deeper pain. 
Yet no, — she nears, — she nears me still ; 
She cannot have intentions ill, — 

Her features smiles of love assume, 
And now they bear resemblance fair 

To that dear portrait in my room. 
She comes to claim her Christabel, — 
My mother! — it is she — farewell!" 
Keen was the stinging of the dart 
That quivered in the old man's heart, 
As on her brow a kiss he pressed, 
And turned aside with heaving breast 
And muttered, "Broken every tie ; 
Gone, gone, my child! — Now let me die." 

There were lamentations sore. 
And the castle, gay of yore, 
Was desolate forevermore. 

In few days the chapel bell 



42 COMPLETION OF 

Tolled the moaning funeral knell 
Of the maiden Christabel, 
As in the twilight's star-lit gloom 
They bore her to the ancient tomb, 
And laid her there in peace to bide 
Close by her gentle mother's side. 



CONCLUSION TO PART FIFTH. 

Already meseemeth we have fared 

Too far into the Vale of Woe ; — 
The sky is dark, the ground is bared, 

The leaf is stricken from the bough, 
And who that once has known the cheer 

Of Spring's lush beauty and glowing guise 
Would care to dwell and linger here 

When yonder away are balmy skies? — 
Yet few words more, and I am fain 
To close at last my tale of pain. 
Few words indeed have I to write 
Of how Sir Leoline the knight 

Anon laid by the bale of life, 
And in another world of light 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 4S 

Sought his sweet daughter and gentle wife, 
And eke of how by dim moonshine 
Beautiful, wayward Geraldine 
Was borne on Mother Martha's breast 
To Halegarth Wood, and laid to rest. 

Her father, when told, sought out apace,, 
The secret of her resting-place, 
And, kneeling on the little mound. 
Shed not a tear, moaned not a sound : 
The memories of her waywardness 
Were seared too deeply to express. 
But did he, ere he passed away, 
Renew with Leoline old and gray 
The friendship broken long ago? — 

I know not, for no legends tell ; 

But God knows well how frangible 
Are all our moorings here below. 

And, though we wail and strive amain 

Against the frequency of pain. 
Yet, looking deeply, we must know 
How wise the plan that makes to flow 
Due consequences from a wrong : 
Therein are we made free and strong. 

About the castle, where of yore 



44 COMPLETION OF 

Through mazy wild and palmy more 
Christabel had wandered free 
In childish innocence and glee, 
Hovered a ghostly Presence there, 
Like the lank spectre of Despair. 
Yet sometimes when at eventide 
Time stilly ran as a brooklet's glide, 
And smiled the spaced stars above 
With the benignancy of love, 
Adown the grassy avenue 
That, seldom trodden now, led through 
The bloom-white thicket's dewy gloom 
To where stood waiting the marble tomb, 
A figure, slight of make and tread. 
With trembling steps and bended head. 
And circling crown of floating hair, 
Had been seen to wander there. 
Aye to the tomb it wandered clear, 
Then seemed to flit and disappear ; 
While ever to those who lent an ear 
On the gale came swimming sweetly faint 
The notes of a bosom-wringing plaint. 
Peasants who chanced to stray anear 
Had turned away in doubt and fear. 



COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 45 

For it was said that spirits white 
Came thronging eager in the night 

In that sweet dell 

To sing and tell 
Of their departed Christabel. 
I doubt not but their simple wit 
Enlarged the truth in spreading it : 
The figure was the Bard's alone, 

Bracy disconsolate and forlorn, 

Who oft at eve and early morn 
Brought swelling buds and roses blown 
To deck the tomb's unfeeling stone. 
While he poured his unavailing moan. 

And now that we are nearly through, 
The moral, you may say, is due, — 
That for the dolors we have passed 
Some lesson we must draw at last 
To make the pages worth a reading. 

Without restriction I this view 
Cannot accept as worthy heeding : 
The subtle Spirit of Romance 
Brooks charily a probing glance ; 
Before the philosophic gaze 
It steals away like morning haze ; 



46 COMPLETION OF 

And now, as vulture with its prey, 
To vivisect my tender lay. 
And take its glamour all away 
Would, were such desecration tried, 
Rob my heart of its parental pride. 
The prosiest days of all our life 
With speaking apologues are rife, 
And like the hidden growth of seed, 
Their good is molded deed 
Not when as stated apothegms, 
Polished like lapidary gems, 
They are repeated o'er and o'er 
As tedious pedagogic lore, 
But when, as still, implied effect. 
Growing ever, though often checked, 
They rouse in the unreflecting breast 
An aspiration to attain 
A larger clear, a higher plane. 
Often dreamed but ne'er possessed. 



OTHER POEMS. 47 



ON A PORTRAIT OF KEATS. 

Long had I followed with enraptured eyne 
Endymion sadly roaming bosk and dell, 
Drunk deep the pain of tender Isabel, 

And fond belief of love-lorn Madeline : 

Had felt the fear and heard the tones divine 

That shook the welkin when the Titans fell, 
And longed amid the fascinating spell 

To see the forger of these fancies fine. 

And now I gaze upon the brow's broad room. 
The lips of passion and the musing eyes, 

Dark with the prescience of approaching doom, 
Or wide with sting of fleering enemies. 

And feel, O Keats, a sentience of thy gloom. 

Whence heart-born, self-excluding thoughts arise. 



48 OTHER POEMS. 



ON A MAY MORNING IN THE WOODLAND. 

Sweet morn of May, thy spirit in the air 

Breathes its proverbial glory o'er the earth, 

And joys in the ubiquitary birth 
Of old emotions, now grown new and rare. 
Low sleeps the tiger Passion in his lair, 

While o'er the greening plain of Peace and Grace 

Lamb-fleeced fancies roam from place to place, 
And ruminate the Flower-existence there. 
Now is the swarm of Irritations slain; 

They perished as 1 fled the city's taint, 
And in this spot, baring my breast amain, 

I woo Love back into my spirit faint. 
Here dwells Religion, here its truest fane, 

And here I still all pipings of complaint. 



OTHER POEMS. 49 



PLATONIC LOVE. 

I followed Love into a narrow dale, 

Steep, lone, secluded, where I found abode 

The One whose presence in my dreams had glowed ; 

In her sweet eyes I read the mutual tale. 

For long we dwelt alone in that sweet pale 

Bathed in the stream of joy that round us flowed, 
Until Love came again, and forth we yode 

To a high mountain on his guiding trail. 

Beneath us lay a w4de expanse of plain 

In soothing, soft, time-chastened colors dressed; 

Hither and thither mixing, ran amain 

A mass of people, filling each his hest. 

And lo ! no longer drew they my disdain. 

But all stirred kindly feelings in my breast. 



60 OTHER POEMS. 



THE VALE OF REST. 

(From the German of Uhland.) 

When the sun sinks in the west, 

And, like Alps against the glow, 
Mountain-domed the cloud-groups show, 
I have asked with tears in eyes, 
"0, among them yonder lies 

My longed-for Vale of Rest?" 



OTHEK POEMS. SI 



THE ROSE GARDEN. 
[From the German of JJhland.) 

Of a beautiful rose garden 

I will sing to thee and tell 

How ladies at morning roamed thro' it, 
At eve how heroes fought and fell. 

*'My lord is king in the land, 

I rule in this garden of roses ; 

He chose the golden crown, 

And I the wreath of posies. 

**Andlist, ye three young warders, 

Dear to my soul ye are, 
Xiet tender maidens enter, 

But knights, I charge, debar. 

*'They might destroy the roses. 

And then I should be forlorn." 

So spake the beautiful queen 

As she wandered there one morn. 



52 OTHER POEMS. 

Then before the gate resounded 
The faithful warders' treads ; 

The roses gave out their perfume, 
And nodded their lovely heads. 

And there came along the highway 
Thr-:e tender maidens dear : 

"Ye warders, three dear warders. 
Prithee let us enter here!" 

As the maidens broke them roses 

Their surprise was great exceeding : 

"Have the little roses stuck us? 

Else why are our fingers bleeding?" 

And be'Jore the gate resounded 
The faithful warders' treads ; 

The roses gave out their perfume, 
And nodded their lovely heads. 

Then along the road on horses 

Three impudent knights did ride : 

"Ye warders, three base warders, 
Haste ye and open wide!" 

"The gate, it shall stay shut. 

Our swords they are bare and brown, 



OTHER POEMS. 58 

The roses' they are dear, 

And your horses might trample them down !' * 

Then fought the knights and warders 

And the knights won the bloody fray; 

Like the roses the warders were crushed. 
And together they dying lay. 

And at evening came the queen 

Roaming the garden thro' : 
^ And are my roses trampled, 

And slain my warders true? 

"Then on rose leaves in the earth 

I will lay them peacefully; 
And where the rose garden flourished 

Shall the lily garden be. 

*'And who will watch my lilies 

As faithfully as they? 
By night the stars and moon, 

And the glorious sun by day." 



OTHER POEMS. 



TO PHYLLIS. 

(From the Dutch of Jacobus Bel! amy.") 

Happy the man who, lacking feeling, 
Has never shed the tears of grief, 

Who, proof to every keen disaster, 

Can steel his heart's unmanliness. 

Ah ! were my heart but so unfeeling, 

I should be happy then ! 
No tears would then on my cheeks glisten 

I should be happy then ! 

Yet does the fountain of our pleasure 
Spring from unfeelingness? 

Ah ! no ; the fount of truest pleasure 
Is in a feeling heart. 

Well, then, my tears, flow on, flow on ! 

Emotion's tears ye are; 
In hearts impassible and stolid 

True greatness never lives. 



OTHER POEMS, 65 

Who is it yonder diffidently 

Following his wife to the grave? 
No tears swim in his eyes malicious, 

His bosom heaves no sigh. 

Was his wife to her sex a blemish? 

Was she untrue to him? 
The image she of Love and Virtue, 

And fame of womanhood. 

He, all unconscious of the beauty 

Of Virtue, Love and Faith, 
Last ui)on earth the greatest treasure, 

And never knew its worth. 

So then, flow on, flow on, my tears, 

My heart's true witnesses! 
Far liefer would I be unhappy 

Than so unfeeling be. 



56 OTHER POEMS. 



VERSELETS. 

Kind ladies have often endeavored 
To break my doltish phlegm, 

And lure me into reading 

My writings aloud to them. 

But I am a modest fellow 

Without pretense or sham, 

And don't just like that manner 
Of showing how brave I am. 



OTHER POEMS. 57 

Little maiden, stay a little, 

Wait and hear me, I implore ; 
I have found what it is that draws them. 

Thy lovers gallant and galore : 

They love thy lands and rhino ; 

I love thy heart inside, 
For that, I am told, is a jewel, 

And jewels are my pride. 



58 OTHER POEMS. 

In moments of humble sadness 
Of repentance I am fain. 

And straightway of my comrades 
Beg forgiveness once again. 

For often on slight provocations 
Bad words I up and say: 

However by some exalted 

I am moulded of mortal clay. 

And then I am a poet 

Of the usual freaky cast, 

And of all lackadaisical liars 
Believe the poet last. 



OTHER POEMS. 59 



LINES. 

Shalt thou not mourn because thy early days 

Were made the target of thick-thronging woes? 

Shalt thou not bitterly revert to them, 

And, by comparing thy restricted path 

With the wild sweet freedom incident to youth, 

Bewail thy shorn lot? Where is the result. 

The recompense for that untimely blight? 

One voice within me queried thus; the tone 

Was siren, suave, alluring me to think 

As it suggested. Soon another voice 

Rose up to answer. Now the tone was grave, 

Void of caresses, plain, and modulated 

To one low pitch of sameness. It replied : 

"Woo not illusion; let me undeceive thee. 

Thou hadst denials, hadst bestowals, too. 

Methinks that wild, sweet freedom, were it thine 

In earlier days, had sent thee racing far 

Beyond due limits. Thick thy way was strewn 



60 OTHER POEMS. 

With shards and shatter, but at intervals 
Did not fair flowerets spring and offer up 
Their humble redolence to freshen thee? 
Forget not how that Sorrow, thoughtful-eyed, 
And pale-browed, mother of Reflection, came. 
And, standing by thee, from her moulded lips 
Shed the sweet l(»re that none but she can teach. 



NOV 16 1899 



